


In The Dark, Make Me Your Light

by Scibie



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, possessed!Kenny, psychic!Kyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scibie/pseuds/Scibie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kenny's immortality is a little more than a curse and more a failed possession by an eldritch horror. It falls on Kyle to keep Kenny sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Dark, Make Me Your Light

“Kenny… come on dude, you gotta fight it… Whatever’s in you… it’s not _you_ dude…” Kyle pleads under his breath, watching Kenny’s shoulders shudder.  
Drawing close, Kyle prays to God that Kenny is still lucid enough not to try attacking him this time around. With slow and considerate movements, he rests his hands square between the blonde’s shoulder blades. Muscles tense and untense rapidly beneath his palm, playing out a cruel beat that matches the way Kenny’s form flickers from time to time, as if the boy himself was a mere mirage rather than flesh and blood. It sickens Kyle to see Kenny this way – shaking in fear and pain and the pure _horror_ at whatever it is that keeps trying to take over. Kenny’s always been a quiet kid, hiding away in his little orange parka, and today is no different – Kyle can feel the whimpers and sobs that Kenny’s holding back.  
“K-kuh-kyle.” The boy manages to stutter out through parched throat and lips that no longer feel like his. It’s all he manages, thoughts too scrambled to remember whether he was about to implore Kyle to _run_ or to _help me_.  
Kyle’s there, whichever he would have chosen, mumbling soft words that never make it past Kenny’s ears. The warm hand on his back anchors him to this reality, grounding him against the tide. _Kyle_ is his mantra. Kyle Kyle Kyle. Kenny isn’t sure he actually remembers any other words at this point.  
_I’ve got you Kenny._ Comes the reply inside his head. _I’ve got you._  
Kenny’s never sure if he’s imagining those words, but they help all the same, soothe the pain of becoming.  
_Becoming what?_ Kyle’s voice asks him in his own head. Kenny isn’t sure. All he knows is that he’s becoming.  
The faint glow of Kenny is evident in the cold night, yellow-green and soft. In any other context it would be quite a calming light, but to Kyle it was merely another reminder that his time for talking was slowly running out.  
The barely held in whimpers begin to phase into giggles. Low, soft giggles that sound eerie and wrong in Kenny’s voice.  
“Kenny, hey dude, shh.” Kyle whispers, shushing the blond. Carefully, with hands that tremble in the chill, he sweeps Kenny’s hair away from his eyes. Eyes that are tightly shut. Kyle can just about see the repressed tears glinting in the streetlights.  
Kenny nuzzles his hand softly, trying to say he’s okay. Which isn’t true. He’s not okay at all. Everything is dark and glowing yellow at the same time. His body doesn’t feel his and everything is _wrong_.  
The aura around Kenny – usually a bright green that reminds Kyle of the light dappling through the leaves in South Park’s brief summer month – is a sickly olive. Kyle is used to seeing auras now, ever since he jumped off the roof of his house to fake gaining psychic powers. The universe then decided to shit on him and make it actually so.  
Either way Kenny’s looks sickly and stale, smothered in some way Kyle doesn’t understand. The blond boy is smiling now, the grin wonky and stretching too wide.  
“K-Kyle.” Kenny repeats, his voice echoing within itself and vowels and syllables dancing in ways that make Kyle’s head spin. “Kyle.” Kenny manages again, the word stringing together properly this time but still bouncing around in Kyle’s skull.  
“I’m here buddy.” Kyle mutters, shrinking away slightly.  
There’s a soft quiet chuckle that is altogether _not Kenny_ and Kyle flinches as the atmosphere between them fills with static. The hairs on his arms prickle and his vision flickers wildly as he staggers back.  
“I know you’re there, _buddy_.” Kenny hisses through his teeth, tone making a mockery of the term ‘buddy’.  
“Kenny?”  
Kenny’s feet slowly lift from the trampled snow, yellow replacing green.  
He's floating. Holy shit. Kenny is _floating_. Of all the times Kyle's had to talk Kenny out of these states not once has Kenny floated. 

In pure shock Kyle stares, brain switching between the instinct to run and the instinct to grab Kenny and tug him down and hold him tight until this nightmare ends. 

In his indecision, Kyle is vulnerable. Before he knows it, Kenny has him up against the icy alley wall. He's still in that goddamn Mysterion costume, having died while 'fighting' crime this time around. (Mental note: crime tends to fight back). The lavender is stained with red but that's not what freaks Kyle out the most. It's the way the blond's lips are pulled back tight into the biggest, most demonic smile Kyle has ever seen, Kenny's gums and missing tooth all visible at once. His head falls about a little limply, like one of those bobble-head dolls, bouncing to and fro whenever it leans too far over.  
Kyle swallows his fear and closes his eyes and waits to see what happens next. He can feel the waves of pure energy that roll off Kenny's form with an irregular pulse. They wash over him, each scrambling his thoughts a little more. Kenny's breath drifts over his cheeks, tainted with the faint odour of alcohol and stale bread. The classic smells of Kenny. 

Once upon a time Kyle would have put all this down to alcohol. He wished he still could.  
Kenny's cape, tattered and stained, floats out around him though the night is still. The glow, once green now yellow, is vivid against Kyle's closed eyelids.

"Kyle..." Kenny whispers in a voice that almost sounds pleading. It's enough to make his friend crack open an eye with the hope that it's all over.

Except it's anything but. As soon as Kyle's eyes open Kenny pushes close, closing the gap between them in mere moments. Kyle screeches like a little girl, the sound hitting unseen barriers and cancelling out before it can spread. 

Blue eyes wide open and darting to look at anything and everything are all Kyle can see, pressed against his vision while Kenny's forehead meets his own. The contact between the two of them is red hot and sparking, but Kyle is barricaded between the wall and Kenny and blockaded in by hands that rest on the wall either side of his face.

"Kenny?" He tries in a voice that shakes more than his friend. "D-dude?"

The huge grin flickers for a moment but holds steady. "Ky-le." Kyle can see the way Kenny's mouth struggles with the words, as if English is suddenly foreign to him. Even though English is the only language Kenny has ever spoken his whole life and Kyle is about 98% certain Kenny has never bothered to learn anything else. 

"I'm here dude. We're both here." Kyle reassures him with all the concentration in the world needed to ensure his voice does not shake or crack. 

With the same level of concentration, plus a whole heap of courage, Kyle ever so slowly raises a shaking hand (Kenny's wide blue eyes follow it intently) and oh so gently places it on the 'M' on Kenny's costume. He waits a moment for the reaction. 

(Kenny stays statue-still, eyes glued on Kyle's once more.) 

Deep breaths. 

Kyle spreads his fingers out. 

(No reaction.)

Closing his eyes, Kyle bites his lip and listens. The thrum of Kenny's rabbit-rhythm heartbeat pulses through his hand. 

After a few minutes he feels Kenny (now significantly taller thanks to an early growth spurt) rest his chin on the top of his head. 

The rabbit-rhythm smooths out a little. He can feel a little green ebb back into Kenny's being. 

"Kyle." Breaths an entirely more lucid Kenny, words no longer strangers. "Fuck dude."

Kyle doesn't move from his position for now, letting out a long deep breath as he shivers against the wall. The winter was really biting at South Park's ankles at this time of year.  
He knows the danger has passed when Kenny's always-warm fingers brush a lock of curly red hair aside.  
"I'm so sorry dude."  
Kyle just takes another deep breath, letting this one shake a little.  
"Kyle?"  
"I'm here Kenny." Kyle sighs, pushing away from the wall lightly.  
Still lightheaded he stumbles but he merely leans his forehead against Kenny's shoulder and stays upright.  
Kenny doesn't seem to mind.  
Kenny doesn't mind at all.  
"Fuck." Kyle mutters to himself, tension rising in his shoulders and hands balling into fists.  
Kenny grabs his shoulders and squeezes them tightly. "Kyle c'mon, you did good." Kenny's redneck drawl is always a little heavier when he reassures Kyle.  
To Kyle it's less of an accent and more of a marker of _Kenny_ \- these days anything that identifies Kenny and not whatever was inside of him is a reason to celebrate.


End file.
